


John Watson's Blog: 8th February

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:02:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst





	John Watson's Blog: 8th February

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8th February

 **Private Entry**

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It's probably ironic that as soon as I actually have something to write in this thing, I can't put it down in case it gets read by the wrong eyes. After all, if the man can tell so much about me from a mobile phone, what can he tell from a blog? Not that I really care about him knowing details of my history or even about my family, messed up as it is. Besides, whenever he works that stuff out, I'm usually far too impressed with his methods to be annoyed.

However, there is something I intend to keep from him, if I can, at least until I've figured out what it is and what it means and all the other stuff that's going to involve me actually setting it all out in black and white and puzzling through it on my own.

I've found this privacy setting thing now, so we'll see if that keeps him out for long enough for me to crack this thing. And if it doesn't, no doubt he'll bring it up in casual conversation and let me know exactly what I should have worked out days ago.

Where to start? Maybe with the hard facts, then I can move on to the less solid parts.

I'm not gay. I know I'm not gay. It's just one of those things you know about yourself, like the fact that I've never been to ballet, but I'm pretty sure I'd hate it, and I've never eaten a kangaroo testicle or whatever it is they give them on that ridiculous show, but I'm sure as hell never going to try one. I've never had any hints I might be gay, not even stuck out in Afghanistan, surrounded by a thousand horny men combined with all the testosterone and homoeroticism of the army. When Jeffries propositioned me that time behind the latrines I wasn't even a little tempted. Mind you, and I know you're not meant to speak ill of the dead, but Jeffries was vile.

It seems clear enough set out like that, and that's not even taking into account my history with women, which has been long and varied enough to be slightly embarrassing. I'm not even a little bit gay.

And yet, certain things in the last few days have made me doubt that. I seem to have a fascination with long, pale hands that are most certainly not womanly in any way, hands that stroke a violin's bow with almost the same delicacy as they do the skin of a corpse. Late at night, lying awake in order to avoid the damn nightmares, I've taken to wondering what it might be like to kiss someone a great deal taller than me. Michelle hardly counts, she was barely an inch taller, and every other woman I've kissed has been at least a little shorter than me. But then, that's the thing, of course. _Women_ I've kissed.

Most damning of all, perhaps, are the times I found myself inexplicable aroused when he's explaining his train of reasoning. It's more than a little embarrassing to find yourself becoming hard just because your flatmate is detailing all the ways he knew you had a drunk sibling, or the signs that told him that a dead woman was a serial adulterer.

So maybe my sexuality isn't as clear-cut as I thought. After all, despite his ridiculous hair, there's nothing at all girly about Sherlock Holmes, and I've certainly been studying him closely enough to have noticed if there was.

I wonder what my psychiatrist would say about all this – something about displacement activity, no doubt. I suppose there's nothing to do but to just carry on pretending it's not happening – even if he wasn't my flatmate, or pretty much the only friend I have in London at the moment, he's still 'married to his work' and completely uninterested in a wounded ex-army doctor with barely even half as much intelligence as him.

Writing this was meant to make me feel better, not worse. Maybe it's time for a beer instead.

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 **1 Comment**

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> There is nothing ridiculous about my hair. Nothing. There's also very little that's actually private on the internet, for future reference. Anything can be hacked if you're clever enough, and a Blog site barely uses enough encryption to keep a 12-year-old out.
> 
> And, as I'm correcting the mistakes in your entry, I suppose I should tell you that I am very much interested in wounded ex-army doctors, particularly ones that can keep up with me running through London's alleys, and are crack shots with a gun. Know any?
> 
>  **Sherlock Holmes** 9th February 3.14am

 

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